Allegiance
by ImagineQueen
Summary: Post-Flashpoint/New 52/Post-Convergence. Based on the "Truth" story arc. Superman's secret is exposed by the least person who's likely to do it. Meanwhile, Lois Lane is on the trail of the world's next biggest story: herself. Wait. What? Lois' POV. Slight Lois/Clark, has Clark/Diana, but we'll explore other probabilities...
1. Some Like It Hot

**Allegiance**

 **A/N: My very first story on this site! Gee, I hope this is good. I pretty much grew up a JLA kid and has stacks of DC comic books in my house. So, I was dismayed when Clark and Lois pretty much got into each other's throats these last days (except the Convergence elseworld story) what with the New 52 and all, and I just had to write a fanfic about their complex characters (and relationship) in tribute to 76 years of Supes. Enough with this cheesy author's note, thank you for taking time to click this. Hope you enjoy it! Reviews are welcome!**

 **Summary:**

Based on the post-Convergence continuity. Clark Kent goes into hiding after his secret was known by the whole world. Meanwhile, Lois Lane is hot on the trail of the world's next biggest story. But this time, she might just not get away with it _alive_...

 **Rating:**

T for language and theme

 **Disclaimer:**

I, the author, do not own any of the Superman characters and settings nor any characters related to Superman. All characters are purely owned by Warner Bros. and DC Comics. I write for my pure happiness and not for any profit. Some lines and scenes are taken from **Divergence**.

* * *

 **1:**

Fine.

I toss the newspaper aside and sit straight in front of my desk. I know I should not have done that stupid thing. I should have respected my friend's wishes. If _he_ is still my friend after all of that. I did not meant to. I never want to.

'Superman's True Identity' the headline reads. It creeps back into my mind even when I close my eyes and try to think of something to divert my emotions. But, no. _Lois, you messed up big time._ And this time, I do not know what I am supposed to do next.

Clark would be angry when I see him again. Even saying that is an understatement. _Who cares?_ My evil self reminds me. He is currently on with that woman in a Star-Spangled Banner bathing suit. Like we had not been friends at all. Just seeing them in that public display of affection, _mid-air_ , makes me want to puke. It's just...that man is not Smallville. Something's wrong. I don't know what it is right now, but definitely it's like I have been placed in the wrong movie.

Now, this disaster spells ten times wrong for me.

And Clark? He's nowhere to be seen for the last 72 hours!

I brush the weariness off my eyes and grab my phone from my pocket. A picture of Clark standing alone at the subway pops on my screen. A certain HannahB. tweeted it. She even tagged me. She _has_ the nerve to tag me.

 _Thanks! If only I knew it before, I passed by this handsome nerdy guy almost every day 3 #TheDailyPlanet #Supes #MrKent #SecretIdentityReveal_

Clark's ordinary stature in the photo, with his stooped large shoulders and wide-rimmed glasses, brings to my memory of how cruel I had been. Cruel is the only word I could accurately give it. I mean, Clark Kent, when I met him as a fledgling reporter at the Planet, is a lonely boy. A troubled and lonely boy. Nevertheless, he impressed Mr Perry White and eventually became my rival.

He is a good rival. And a good partner. Even without his cape, he saved me several times. Like when I walked with him to the Planet when we were just starting out to be partners for a certain story, I - actually both of us - almost got mugged. But he seriously scared the attacker with his large shadow and big voice. And somehow, that guy fled after missing a fire at me.

What have I done that made me consider my own self as a cruel b****? Well, for one, I admit I am a perfectionist and realistic. Clark simply is not realistic. He has a rose-tinted view of the world; that somehow every person will see the good in their hearts and change. I do not believe in that crap and try to shove some sense into him.

It did not work. Obviously.

He is still my friend. After all that we had gone together as partners, my gut now nags me that this time I have stepped out of my limits. Selling out his privacy would be the last thing I would ever do to a best friend and he knows it.

But why did I?

Darn, Lois what a rut. Clark is my friend. I should not have done it. I know I do not like to do it. But someone keeps telling me that Truth comes first. It's there, whispering that the world should know who Superman truly is. And that it might help Clark to face the world in his true self.

 _Truth, Lois, is what you fight for._

But now I think there are truths that you have to sacrifice for friends.

I keep scrolling in my social media accounts, until I realize there is really no point in doing it. It makes me guilty all the more and be rotten. I quickly stand to my feet and wear my coat. I have to go and say sorry while it's still early to do so.

* * *

My first resort is to call Jimmy.

"Hey, Miss Lane," he answered at the first ring.

I hurry down the hall and into the empty elevator. "Jimmy, thank God! Do you know where Clark went? I called his phone. He is not answering me. Jimmy, it was all a misunderstanding." My shaking finger pressed the G button and reverted back to the warm pockets of my coat.

Jimmy sighs on the other end. "Look, Miss Lane, you and Mr Kent are good friends of mine. I take no side but don't you think it's a little overboard that you reveal his life to everybody? I don't know where he is now. Probably dodging people."

"I did not want to, Jimmy. I am going to say sorry," I say, exasperatedly. "Thanks, okay?"

"Okay," he answers, "I hope you two sort this out, Miss Lane. CK looked really hurt."

* * *

Cop friends come in handy when you are searching for an otherwise untraceable person. Clark had already probably deserted his apartment. And he's too confused to hide in that cold palace of his up in the Arctic. So I end up here, seated in Officer Henderson's office at the Metropolis Police Station.

The door swings wide open and Officer Henderson strode in, with an amused look in his face. "Miss Lane, what brought you for a visit?" He takes off his coat, a stark cream parka in contrast to his dark skin, and lays it on his huge chair across mine.

I stand up and shake his offered hand. "I need to find a missing colleague. He's gone off the face of the Earth for the last two days and I'm worried as hell."

He nods. "Very well. I take it that no missing person case has been brought to us yet?"

"Yep," I reply with a sigh. "It's very confidential." He invites me to sit and walks off to a coffee maker at the far corner of the office.

"I understand perfectly, Miss Lane, you rarely have some private meetings here with me if not for a 'touchy' subject," he says casually while setting a mug on the appliance. "Want some coffee first?"

Coffee sounds good, and it might help me rein my nerves in before I dash out of my seat to buy a cigarette. "Thanks."

He smiles. "So, about this colleague."

"Kent, Clark. He's six foot four. Has dark hair, blue eyes. Very big man… Caucasian, that's about it. As far as I know he received no threats of any kind. Well, none civilian threats any way."

Officer Henderson looks at me curiously and takes the mug filled with black coffee from the coffee maker. "Oh, Mr Kent. Yes, I remember. We are also looking for him, Miss Lane." He hands the mug to me and turns to get himself one too. An sympathetic look crossed his face. "As far as Metropolis is concerned, he has already fled."

My hands cradle the steaming mug, its pricking heat becoming a sort of retribution for the guilt harboring in my heart. I keep my eyes on Henderson. We have known each other for quite a while since I'm on the city beat when I started at the Planet. He is trustworthy and blunt. One of the few good men in Metropolis.

Maybe Clark has fled. After all, he could go to China in twenty seconds flat and Superman is pretty much the citizen of the world. But I wouldn't back so easily. I can still feel Clark nearby. A hollow presence, hiding behind the few shadows this city could offer for an estranged hero.

"Are you sure that you have not seen a six foot four guy in a hoodie walk by the alley ways? He's large for crying out loud! Hardly, only a few men are taller than him in this city," I say, gripping the mug in my hands tighter. Nerves got the better of me, and raising my tone at him wasn't exactly what I had intended. "He couldn't just have fled Metropolis like that, Henderson. Both you and I know that."

He shakes his head and sips from his mug. "Times have changed, Miss Lane."

* * *

The black coffee does wonders to my raging nerves. With hesitance on both our parts, Officer Henderson promised to update me if ever they find a lead. Which is bleak, considering how Superman hasn't responded to emergencies for two days.

As I drive by Metropolis, I think of the other people I could ask help from. There's those guys at that hacker company – to think that they actually founded a real company is hilarious but they have clients, and that Reese Jenner lad who actually helped me with the Intergang Operations and my sister way back three years ago.

My mind debated whom I'm gonna call. Just like what Dad said, the fewer you contact the fewer mouths you have to silence.

I park my car in front of a convenient store and call the boy.

His phone rings for five times before he picks up. "Hello? Who's this?" A groggy voice answers on the other end.

"Kid, it's me."

"Miss Lane?" he says, surprised. "Gee, why do you call at this hour?"

"I need a favour," I reply, my other hand tapping on the steering wheel.

"Uh," he stammers, "should I-I rejoice about that?"

I roll my eyes. This is what sucks with this lad. "I don't know, but if you won't just say so! I tell you one thing though, after I'm done with this I'd go to your apartment and shove your hide."

"Okay, okay chill Miss Pulitzer," he says with a laugh, "so fire."

"Superman-"

He practically screams at the phone, "I got this! Got it! I definitely got this Miss Lane just wait. Wait right there."

So I waited. This kid might be amateur but he's definitely proved his worth to me when he tracked Lucy once upon a time.

"CCTV of a motel, ten meters outside Metropolis City proper, just in last night," he says breathlessly, "matches all of description of Superman and Clark Kent. I've saved this when one of my buddies thought they chanced on Supes in that motel. Didn't believe then but now… well maybe he is our guy after all."

I frown. "You're telling me Superman checked in a motel?"

"Yup," Reese says confidently, "it does sound absurd, Miss Lane but it seems rational."

"The motel? That rundown establishment? Did he arrive with someone? And what's the exact time?"

"Wait. 11:54 pm," he answers. After a few moments, the kid returns. "He's alone."

"Do you know the room number?"

Reese laughs. "Now, I'm just a hacker Miss Lane. The device of the establishment does not allow sound, just like an ordinary CCTV. And I've only saved the file from the reception, because until you called me I can't believe Superman checked into a motel too."

I grumble. "Thanks by the way."

"Check for yourself too," he adds, "no worries Miss Pulitzer, a hamburger would do for my services."

I laugh. "Maybe if you'd known the room number I'd get one for you."

"Haha, kidding."

"Thanks."

* * *

 **What do you think, dear reader?**


	2. Closed Doors

**A/N: The flashback scene here is inspired by an _Action Comics_ issue (the author will update to cite the exact issue number * I forgot about the number, I'm terribly sorry). Unlike in that one, we won't be hearing of Jon Carroll for a little while. YET, as much as I love our favorite reporter and superhero together, I think they do deserve a little space apart from each other... **

**Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own Superman and the related characters. He is originally created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Schuster. The rights to the characters belong to DC and Warner Bros. but you know that already. So ciao and enjoy!**

 **Reviews are welcome! Global cyber-hugs and cyber-cookies to you, lovely readers. God bless!**

* * *

 **2:**

I drive by the outskirts of the city undisturbed... apart from my phone that constantly beeps because of the notifications coming in. Most of them have those annoying hashtags #Supes and #SecretIdentityReveal, and to add insult to the injury they have the nerve to tag me.

Before all of this ruckus, I took that job as a producer of a nightly news at WGBS. My suspicions that Clark was Superman were strengthened when I realized how late his papers were. I asked Mr White about it, and he says Clark's absences are getting frequent than before. The Planet's coverage about Superman is half a day late. A job that when _I_ was doing it never goes out of hand.

It proved to be the beginning of our misunderstandings.

Mr White and I asked Clark to meet us. He was sporting an unclean look; quite unlike of him. I might mistake him for a troubled teenager if I didn't know him. He wore an old Smallville sweater and jeans. His dark hair, which he always keeps neat and gelled is now tousled badly.

"Kent," Mr White started, "we have a problem. You have been assigned to the Superman beat and yet you bring us late news; or news that isn't front page worthy."

Clark looked up to Mr White from his seat and said, "Don't worry Mr White, I was just having a bad week. I'll have it."

I turned to face him. "Clark, this is not just about late news. Your coverage is not enough. We have to have something substantial so we can use it for both paper and broadcast. You merely state what happened!"

"Touché," Mr White said, pretending to go back to the paper in his hands.

"And what do you want me to do Lois?" Clark retorted. "Find an intrigue to reduce our stories to some celebrity column? That's not journalism. You of all people should know that."

Mr White looked at us both with raised eyebrows, took his mug of coffee that was resting at the edge of his table, and sipped silently. I crossed my arms and shook my head.

"As the producer, I am saying that those stories aren't fit for television," I said. "We are supposed to get breaking news, some trending news, not follow-ups. Clark, you can do better than that!"

He stood up. "I can." Clark walked away quickly, shutting Mr White's glass door behind him.

I turned to the window and sighed.

"Aren't you a bit hard?" Mr White said a little after.

"Not so much. If I were, I would have persuaded you to change his beat."

Mr White laughed. "You know Clark is the only one for the job. You and he were partners when Superman is just starting. Unless you count Grant who is out for Superman's cousin."

"Maybe he needs something different, Mr White," I offered.

The old man shrugged. "Maybe."

* * *

The fat man wearing a Death Metal shirt and a bright red cap with the blazing "Metropolis Meteors" on his head behind the desk narrows his eyes at me and pushes his subway to the side. "I cannot let you lady. Sorry."

I sigh and dig my bag for my press I.D. "Wait a sec."

"Uhuh, sure," he mocks, grabbing his subway again and munching it loudly. I brandish the card in front of him.

"Lois Lane, Daily Planet," I say. His eyes widen, looking intently at my I.D. "I have business here, sir."

He looks apparently shaken when he answers, "We've done nothing wrong, Ma'am! We just got our permits from the Police. He'll tell you!"

Typical. When there's Press, people always think something's wrong. "It's not about your business, mister. I'm looking for a tall, large guy in a hoodie who looks like a hermit. Someone told me he checked in your motel _last night_. I would like to know where he is exactly."

He sets the subway back on the plate again and hastily search the drawers for the log book. "I remember the fellow… just a minute, Ma'am." He places the large, worn book in between us and flips it open.

"Around 11:54 in the evening," I offer, peering on the book.

After a brief moment. "Here. Name's Joseph K. Room 8."

"Thanks." I place my i.d. back in my bag and hurry to the stairs. Clark Joseph Kent is here after all.

* * *

I walk as slowly as I can along the hallway with my bag hanging on my shoulder. What will I say? _Hi Clark, how's it going? Read the paper? I know right, you're a sensation._

 _Crap. What am I doing anyway? You did the right thing, Lois Lane. You don't need justification. It's your job, your duty as a journalist._

An '8' silver number that slightly dangled from its place caught my eye. The door looks tightly shut. I gather all my courage and knock deftly. In a few minutes, a dirty, rugged Clark Kent minus the glasses but with a stubble to sport greeted me at the door. Well, it isn't exactly _greeted_ , more like "stare down wearily".

"Clark."

He stares at me quietly like a hawk, and for a split second I worry he'd use his heat vision right then and there. But he didn't. "How can I help you Lois?" Clark says solemnly in a cold manner he never used before. "And how did you find me?"

"I have my connections." I take a little step forward to see him clearly. He looks pissed off. At his feet, a big fat rat speeds away. There's no light inside the room. So, headline tomorrow is World's Greatest Hero Goes to Exile? My eyes widen and for the life of me, I launch into my usual tirade again. "Goodness, Clark! I searched for you all over the city and you're here in a rundown motel? Are you okay? Did you lose your apartment? Are you short? I can give you some money -"

His face turns red with rage. "Why does everyone think it's about money?" he exclaims. "I don't need your money, Lois! Leave me alone." His blue eyes flashed anger and in them I see hurt and pain. _Nice apology, Lane. Nice apology._

I brace myself and draw a deep breath. "Clark, I know this is hard for you, but we need to talk… I-I came here to say sorry."

His lips twitch. For a brief moment, he thought about it considerably. "We have nothing to talk about, Lois," his usual friendly tone now completely gone as he says it, "I don't need your apology. Everyone knows now the truth who _I_ am. You have nothing to spill to them anymore. We're done."

"No, Clark if you will just listen!" I retort, equally frustrated.

"What?"

I shake my head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. But you see Clark, I have to."

His eyes narrow at me.

"People have to know the truth. They will find about it sooner or later."

His eyes sobered. "It does not matter if the world finds out sooner or later, Lois," he answers tersely, "what matters is my best friend betrayed me."

"Clark, please," I try to touch his arm. "I'm sorry. I'm very, very sorry."

He retreat back to the shadows of the room. "Please, leave me alone Lois; like you always do."

With it he shuts the door at my face.

* * *

The morning is no better than last night. Once I step inside the bullpen all my eyes see is chaos. Reporters, copy boys, and interns bump each other. Steve Lombard, his football in his arms, is shouting at his desk phone. There's Ron Troupe walking to and fro cubicles, with tons of paper – notes, I presume – in his hands. Jimmy just got out from the Chief's office, and he looks none the happier. Only Jenny seems to be in a good mood. She smiles at me and goes out casually to chase her story.

"Lane!" Mr White's thundering voice booms menacingly across the bullpen. I quicken my pace and raise my hand. "Where the hell is Lane?"

"Just arrived Chief!" I make a beeline for the Chief's room at the far end of the bullpen. He is standing outside the glass walls of his office, arms akimbo. Perry White's eagle eyes finds me and sends me a death glare.

I shrug, frowning as I walk towards him. Now what did I do?

The Chief doesn't take my attitude for now and goes back into his office. I follow him in a few seconds and found him in the act of putting his half-burnt cigarette to his lips.

"You call for me, Chief?" I say, closing the glass door behind me.

Mr White stands by his large glass window and grimaces at me; the cigarette between his lips. "Lane, I just lost one of my hard-working reporters."

I sigh. My leather jacket only makes me perspire more. The jeans doesn't help too. They seem to restrict me like a cobra. "It was not supposed to be like this."

"It just happens to be right now," Mr White says, turning to face me. He takes out the cigarette in between his lips and dumps it into the ash tray on his table. "Congratulations for finding out the biggest expose there could ever be."

"Mr White," I say, trying not to appear hurt by his sarcastic way of saying it. "People have to know the truth." Pointing it out to him with my finger just in case he cannot see it. Who knows why Clark applied for a job at the Planet? Why would he want to be in the front lines to important information? To save people in trouble or for something more sinister? _He is the most powerful alien right now, Chief. An alien masquerading as human._

He shakes his head. "Lois, Lois…there is a difference between lying and keeping one mouth's shut. Lying is when you know the truth and yet you deny it. Denying is lying. When you are certainly not in the position to reveal a secret, you just have to remain silent about it. Especially for a civilian like Clark Kent."

I listen, unsure of what to say. Perry White is my mentor, my idol, my hero before… well before Superman came. He's still my hero in the journalism field though. For that to come out from him, is – I have to admit – a blow to my pride. _Can't you see it, Mr. White? There is something sinister around us - around this whole Clark is Superman thing - and the world has to know it!_

"No one asked if a certain Clark Kent was Superman," he explains, "Not one of us even wonder if Superman has a private life as a common citizen because, well, he always shows up at any time of the day."

"But if I did keep my mouth shut, Chief," I ask, placing my hands on his desk, "isn't that restraining my freedom as a journalist to broadcast the truth? Isn't that what all of us are fighting for? To have the truth known?"

Mr White's eyebrow rises. He sits on his chair and clasps his hands. "Listen, Lane. May I ask again the meaning of the word 'newsworthy'?"

Now where is he going with this? Journ 101? Is this some kind of trap? "Not all stories are newsworthy. Stories have to incite human interest, be timely, and most of all, important or significant. The event is important. The place can be important. The people involved are important. Why, Chief?"

"Exactly-"

Behind me, the door swings wide open and Ron rushes in. "Hi, Lois. Chief," he says, walking to the Chief's side. He hands a typed article on a rather wrinkled bond paper. "The Oil Leak."

Perry nods and takes the paper. "Whatever happened to this one?" he barks.

"Lost it on my desk. Found among my notes." Ron pushes his glasses far up his nose.

The Chief shakes his head before saying, "I'll call you for changes, Troupe." With that, Ron smiles at me again and leaves through the door as quickly as he entered.

Mr White puts Ron's article under a Daily Planet globe paperweight on his desk. "Where was I? Important, yes. Significant, yes," he says, chuckling a little. I tap my foot, waiting for his next words. "Superman, is he significant? Yes, he damn well is. Clark Kent, significant? Maybe, but not so much. Event, significant? Yes, in some sort it incites human interest greatly. Human interest, Lois. This whole shenanigan about the secret identity greatly satiates human interest. And human interest only."

It feels like cold water was suddenly poured on me. Darn, I _know_ well where this is going.

"That's tabloid thing, kid," Perry snaps, arms crossed over his chest, "The Daily Planet, concerning Superman is an important figure and our exclusive hero, is _obligated_ to run that story. But I advised not to… however, that Edge has the final say. Anyway, Lois, listen to me carefully, I admire your skill and spirit. You have fire, and that is what the paper and the world needs. But you must also have discretion. Superman's identity will not help anyone in anyway. Well, it did help the Planet's sales. However, Lois, we do not write for sales or readership."

For the first time in my career, I have nothing to quip against Perry White.

"Luthor may buy all of the dailies in Metropolis yet the Planet will stand against him," he continues, "We may merge with Galaxy Broadcasting but we, in upholding the tradition of the Daily Planet, must not resort to this tabloid trash."

I blink and stood up. He shrugs and turns back to the window. "Think about it, Lois. Have you talked with him after?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"We're done, he said." I ward the nasty echo of Clark's voice in my head. _Please leave me alone, Lois; like you always do._ "He doesn't want to talk."

"He sent this via mail," Mr White says, picking up Clark's resignation letter from the table. He hands the letter to me and I read it thoroughly. Clark is leaving, he stated in the letter, because of personal reasons. "It's official. Gave him a two week's notice, as the standard," Perry White adds. I feel rotten and angry about it at the same time. He does not have to leave. He need not leave. The Planet will still accept him as who he is.

I will still accept him whoever he is.

But that doesn't even matter now. Clark made it clear that we aren't friends anymore. I may as well have gotten myself blacklisted in Smallville.

My phone beeps in two abrupt seconds. I hand Clark's resignation letter back to Mr White and open my phone. There's a message from an unknown number.

 _Seek the Truth. Find it. Tell the world the lies they have been believing in. That's your job isn't it?_

 _7 pm, Metropolis Central. I'll see you, Miss Lane._

I look at the sender's number again. Interestingly, the number is a string of 1's and 0's like a binary code. Not one sane phone number in Metropolis or the whole world has a binary code for a combination.

I quickly reply. _Who are you?_

"What is it?" Perry White's domineering voice breaks my jumbled thoughts.

"A lead." This is only the beginning.

* * *

 **Who is this binary stranger? Reviews are welcome 3 Thank you for reading!**


	3. Shadows in Metropolis

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! They would really help a writer through the troubled waters of their fanfic. Hehe. Moving on... From this point in the story, events will derail from continuity and take on a course of its own. Jon is still Lois' boyfie though. Pity.**

 **Disclaimer: As always, I don't own Superman and the related characters. He is originally created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Schuster. The rights to the characters belong to DC and Warner Bros., though a review does fuel this writer's hunger for constructive criticism :)**

 **Reviews are welcome! Let me know what you think and what you would love to see next. God bless!**

* * *

 **3:**

By afternoon, the tension in the newsroom gradually died down and some of the senior staffers were even stealing naps in their cubicles. From the corner of my eye I see Jimmy's head lolling too even if he's chatting with the interns in the pantry. I shake my head and type Perry's revisions to the Suicide Slum homicide case story I'd finished last night – a day earlier than my deadline.

Henderson's coffee and Clark's outburst pumped my adrenaline and I found myself typing in inglorious hours at my apartment just to keep myself from thinking about it again. For one, I never dwell in the past.

I kick my heels off my feet and stare at my computer. Sleep is taunting me, what with the gracious help of Ralph's classical music playing from the next cubicle. Maybe the coffee's power lasts for only twelve hours long…

"Ma'am Lane?" a sheepish voice calls behind me.

The new blonde intern Farrah stands beside my table with a folder in her hands. I turn to her. "Please, Farrah, it's just Miss Lane."

"Miss Lane," she says, smiling a bit. "Here's the statement of S.T.A.R. and the flash drive. It just got in this lunch." She fishes a tiny, black flash drive from her pants pocket and hands it to me, along with the folder.

I nod and take the parcels from her. "Thanks."

"No worries, Miss Lane." She walks away.

I lay the folder on my table, and tuck the flash drive in the deepest pocket of my leather jacket. Before I could even open the folder, my phone beeps again. It's the mysterious sender.

 _Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Trust me, Miss Lane. Just trust me._

It's like messaging the Joker.

I don't reply and resolve to myself to meet this stranger once and for all. Nothing to worry since I have the Police at my #1 speed dial. Clark had been in my #2. What now? Maybe I'll have to delete him.

Delete Clark from my life forever.

It seems like an awful thing to do. Clark's name and number glare at me from the screen. No. I will not delete it in my speed dial. He was my best friend. He still is, for me. Even if he won't save me, I understand. I cannot bring myself to replace him in the #2 spot; he'd save me countless of times than the police had.

Perry's right. I should have kept my mouth shout for at least this time.

I turn my attention back to the folder. S.T.A.R. said in the statement that they have no affiliations with Dr. E.H. Johnson nor are they connected with the metahuman creation wreaking havoc in Metropolis. Of course it's easy to deny. Oftentimes, to get a confession one has to resort to covert operations.

By 6:50, I park my car on the road nearest to Metropolis Central. A road that is easy access lest I should get into trouble. I stay in the car, open my phone and text the stranger.

 _Where are you?_

As soon as I send it, my phone beeps of a new message. The binary stranger.

 _Looking at you._

My eyes quickly dart to find a sinister looking fellow nearby. He should be nearby to see me. Then, near the corner, my eye caught a dark man in a worn jacket with a grey bonnet and shades. He places his phone in his ear.

Sure enough, my phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Miss Lane," the dark voice said, "thank you for coming. I know I could trust you."

I grab my wheel, ready to dart as soon as possible. "Okay. Now, I'm here. What do you want?"

The man in the worn jacket and grey bonnet nodded and from a distance I could see him smile. "I have a news for you."

"Very well, what is it?" I say, tiring of this wordplay. "Look, mister, I'm very busy."

"I understand," he replies, chuckling, "you are one busy girl in every world."

 _Every world?_

"Excuse me?" I frowned.

The stranger laughs like taunting me is the most enjoyable past time in the world. I wince. "Someone messed up with the multiverse and elseworlds. Now, all of us are trapped in this mixed up world."

I sigh. "Fine. Speak."

"Dr. Ernest Howard Johnson, formerly at Metahumans Division, right?" he continues. "He'll tell you. I cannot tell you more than... A great foe is coming. I'm just a concerned citizen here for our Big Blue Boy Scout."

So this is about Superman, all right. Somehow people always think I'm his secretary. My eyebrows furrow. "I'm not his girl Friday, mister. Anyway, what is it? A creature stronger than Superman?"

"Yes, Miss Lane. Exactly," he says, "in fact, this creature has killed him before. In another time stream that is. If this thing is brought here, in this world, why, I think the world's favourite Kryptonian might find himself dead."

Clark must know about this. "Dr. Johnson where could he be found?"

He goes deathly serious. "He's transferred to Belle Reve, I believe. S.T.A.R. doesn't want anything to do with him. Good night, Miss Lane."

"Name?"

"Viktor Dusnayev at your service."

The line goes into a steady beep. The stranger salutes from his place and vanishes simply among the crowd. The golden rule of journalism: always check your sources. The appearance of this Dushnayev is doubtful enough, but I'd see to his profile later.

I stare at my phone. Dr. Johnson is an elusive man. It's true that S.T.A.R. fired him immediately. Their projects are leaking because of this certain Dr. Johnson.

It's time to pay a visit to Belle Reve.

* * *

As I open the door of my apartment, my phone beeps again.

 _Jon Carroll_

 _Can I drop by?_

I reply that he can't. It's a long discussion anyway and I don't want someone to talk to right now. Jon understands that. He's a convenient boyfriend and doesn't shove into my affairs that much. Both of us are busy all day to even watch each other. And recently, he's been cooling it off without telling me. Not that I'm jealous.

So it's pretty understandable that he only messaged me again with a cheesy note telling me to meet him at the Gold Room on Friday night next week, and to "wear your best too".

I sit before my work desk at the far end of my apartment and open my personal laptop. Right now, there are much more important things than my boyfriend. Being a reporter too, he could understand that.

My flash drive should hold the surveillance videos at S.T.A.R. and a purported confession of Dr. Johnson before he disappeared. The Metropolis Police has just converted them two days ago for me.

Plugging my flash drive in, I open my phone only to see Jon has messaged me again.

I turn my phone off and place it back in my pocket. After the flash drive loads, I open the folder Vid. Sure enough, the six videos are there. I play the first one and sit back.

It's Dr. Johnson himself looking at the camera.

He certainly aged since the last time I saw him, which is two months ago while I cover a suspicious laboratory fire. The hairs left on his head had turned silver and a few shades of grey. He seems agitated and weary as he stares at the lens. In a muffled voice he begins his tale.

"I have done nothing wrong," he says, shaking his head, "I know you are filming this. Whoever you are, watching right now, you must understand. You must listen to me carefully. They will silence me because I know what they are doing. The metahumans are going to rampage. If we do not stop them, they will bring about the end of this world. Again. Just like what they had done to mine."

The elseworlds? So is he even human or not?

"No," he says, as if he heard what I was thinking, "I came from one of the many possible futures. I am dead in a certain time stream, but you see I found a way to go back to the past of this world to live. Prime Earth. Your world borne because of a mistake, a loophole. But if you help me, we can make this mistake right."

Prime Earth? I wince. He smiles. His eyes seem to stare right through me.

"Let us help each other-"

The video buzzes and turns off. When I close my player, I realize that the other five surveillance videos had been corrupted and cannot be played anymore.

This must be a joke. It has to be. But it's not anywhere near funny.


	4. A Trip to Belle Reve

**A/N:** **In this new chappie, we'll get to hear from a character (or two) from the New 52 universe... and a new threat. If you've read the New 52 storyline (I think it's the Legion of Superheroes stream) you'd remember the good Dr. Johnson by his alias.**

 **A big, BIG thank you for the review, Heart of the Demons! Thank you for your support! ;)**

 **Sorry if the chapter is a little short than the other three and it took me FOREVER to upload this because I have no internet connection. Anyway, let me know what you think! I'd be posting the second part of this soon.**

 **If you've read all the way here, thank you for taking the time to read my story! Reviews always bring sunshines so please don't hesitate to type even one! Even a one word review will be fine for me :) Like what Lois said, Constructive criticism always helps!**

 **Disclaimer: (As usual) I don't own Superman or Lois Lane or the related characters. The rights to them belong to DC Comics and Warner Bros.**

* * *

 **4:**

The sun is already high up in the sky, yet Belle Reve shuts off light and warmth.

I follow the red-haired girl through the dark and somber halls. She wears a scrub suit - that makes her look older than she was - and big wide-rimmed glasses that reminds me of what Clark used to wear.

 _Great_ , now I'm thinking of Clark again. Everything that I seem to see or hear has resemblance to Clark or pertains to him and Superman. Every other girl I seem to meet buys the same brand of glasses… It's really getting weird and annoying.

I sigh. Then I remember what Dusnayev said last night. I have to do this. Not just for a great story that might win me another Pulitzer. Even _his_ life could be at stake.

And that would be bad for him. For Metropolis. For the world.

* * *

 _This_ is newsworthy, Chief.

Annabelle, the red-haired assistant here at Belle Reve, turns to look at me curiously. I shrug and pretend to keep my sight straight. We pass by many cold, steel doors. No names identify the prisoner inside, for they are only called by their number. Not one creature makes a noise. The silence is utterly maddening.

The assistant stopped by the door that is third from the last. "You are allowed thirty minutes, Miss Lane." She presses her card on the scanner beside the door and lets me in.

"Thank you," I reply, entering the dimly lit room.

Dr. Johnson sits in a chair at the far right corner. He lost a great deal of weight since the video was taken. He holds a thick book in his hands, reading silently. I notice that he is allowed to keep his books; they are stacked in a puddle at his feet.

"Dr. Johnson," I call," good morning. I'm Lois Lane from the Daily Planet. I'm here to ask you a few questions."

He snaps the book shut and looks up at me. "I always tell Jon that his mother was a feisty woman."

"Who's Jon?" I frown and stand a good few meters away from him. "Doctor, I came here because I watched your video."

He nods. "Jon is my boy. I raised him up to be a good fighter of metahumans. A good boy, he is."

"Uhuh," I say, "you mention about metahumans wreaking havoc, Doc. What do you mean?"

Dr. Johnson stands up with great difficulty from his steel chair. "They will, Miss Lane," he says in a raspy voice, "and soon, they will bring about the end of the heroes of this world; just like what happened to mine." He picks up a leather-bound book from the puddle at his feet and opens it.

A thin, shard of green Kryptonite is safely tuck inside.

"You keep a Kryptonite in here?" I ask, disturbed, pointing at the object.

"I keep it safe," he answers calmly, "from prying eyes. A souvenir, one might say. Look." He hands the book with the shard to me. The edges of the crystalline emerald Kryptonite glint against the dim lights of the cell. In contrast to the rainbow colours of the edges though, is a deep red colour that stained them. I turn the book around, revealing more red and black streaks on the crystal.

Blood.

I shudder at the thought it implies and quickly search Dr. Johnson's eyes. "Where did you get this?"

His silver eyes flicker with suppressed amusement as he shrugs and says casually, "From one of the former worlds. Where this has struck Kal-El enough to temporarily maim him."

"So exactly how many of these worlds have you visited?" I eye the doctor from head to foot. He knows more than he should. I make no reaction that he called Superman by his true name, should he think I am confirming it.

He pauses for a moment then says, "Too many."

"Viktor Dusnayev, do you know him?"

"He... Was my apprentice," Dr. Johnson replies, shutting the book close. "What did he tell you?"

"That you have a surprise for me," I say, narrowing my eye, "and Superman."

The old man nodded. He returned to his seat. "Of course, of course. Say, Miss Lane, do you know of the Multiverse?"

"It's a theory that all of us live in parallel universes and dimensions with timelines varying," I reply, crossing my arms over my chest. "What does it have to do with metahumans and time warp whatever it is? As far as I know, it's not yet proven and the dimensions cannot simply 'touch' each other without using up large amounts of energy. That is something that cannot be simply done in secret."

"Exactly!" Dr. Johnson exclaimed with a raise of his hands. "In the past, Superman has already died, by this creature from space that the world named as Doomsday."

I shrug, taking my recorder from my bag. "Okay. Then?" I press the record button and step closer.

Dr. Johnson's lips tilt to a sinister smile. "Clark Kent was engaged. But he came back you see, turns out the monster did not kill him. It only put him in a coma. A stasis state. He eventually married the love of his life and went on back to fighting crimes and aliens. Only, shortly after the birth of his son, a crisis of Time wiped history all out. One meta-human destroyed the time stream and the world as we know it started at Prime Earth now."

I prompt him to continue.

"The boy was named Jonathan Samuel." Dr. Johnson clasps his hands together. "But he did not live long, Superman mourned his only boy after the child's death at the tender age of three years old, a week short of his birthday."

"Dr. Johnson," I blurt, "the boy could not have lived that old if the time stream changed. You said that a metahuman warped Time shortly after the birth of the child."

"Ah yes," he says coolly, "that is where I come in."

A sick feeling rises to my gut. Sort of like Deja vu, only worse. I have a slight inkling I will not like what he will say next.

"Miss Lane, the cause of his death was his unnatural DNA which is part-human and part-Kryptonian. His make-up proved him fragile even though he developed an array of powers under the yellow sun that are more potent than his father's," Dr. Johnson keeps on saying. I cannot imagine Clark having a family. He always puts the whole world's cause before his personal life. He does have a girlfriend though, but Diana Prince never struck me to be the kind who settles down with three kids, two cats, and a dog in a quaint suburbia. If what Dr. Johnson said really happened, I am sorry for the boy.

Who could have been that human girl who married him? Maybe Lana, that quiet, supportive friend of his from Smallville. Or Diana… she's still human even with that demigoddess status of hers. What are the odds?

Dr. Johnson sighs. "I discovered the boy during my travels. Pity overwhelmed me and I saved the poor child from the grave by my time's medical technology. His DNA stabilized, and Jon grew peacefully to the age of seventeen under my tutelage."

Ah, so this is Jon.

"Jon Kent," I echo. "Who is his human mother?"

The good doctor leans back on his steel chair and calmly replies, "You."


End file.
